


Deja Vu

by talismandan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009 to 2019, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Dan's uncertain of himself, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Phil's a relentless drunk bitch tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talismandan/pseuds/talismandan
Summary: The Wandering Stone Pub was a place Phil visited far too often. He’d go and drink in the hopes of hooking up with someone cute and, occasionally, he’d have a good night, but it would never compare to when he met a young brunette with eyes as big as Phil's hopes and dreams. It was love at first sight and he was ready to give anything to merely touch him. 10 years later though, Phil actually got his name.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 47





	Deja Vu

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first oneshot I've ever written, and I'm kinda happy with it but even happier to have finally finished it because I've been working on this since August! I'm sososososos excited now that it's out in the wild and hope everyone who reads it enjoys!!! 
> 
> Also, shoutout to nash (@warmstale) and a handful of other people for all the love, support and patience while I was making this! I lov u all so much muah

Scotch on the rocks. That’s what Phil Lester always ordered at the Wandering Stone Pub. The bartender and owner, Jack Stylson, a burly man that was always moving, started making one as soon as the little bell jingled followed by a tune Phil often tried to whistle. It was always hard to predict what it would be. Today, it may be the _Kill Bill_ whistle, or maybe the _Bubble Bobble_ theme. If the man was whistling, he was in a good mood and here with intentions. If he wasn’t, Jack usually slid him some brandy.

Today, he walked in without his whistle, and Jack found himself grumbling. He was accustomed to hours and hours of rants after the first two drinks he downed, but tonight, he wasn’t prepared. The drunk younglings who hogged the pool table were especially annoying, having zero idea how to play accompanied by the inability to understand common human decency.

Phil slid into his homey stool, shaped specially for him. It was interesting; no matter how packed the Wandering Stone may get, his seat always remained open, as if his name were stitched onto it.

Jack eyed Phil suspiciously, awaiting a sigh or maybe even a slump. However, he got nothing.

“I’m sick of coming here, Stylson,” Phil said, turning his body to the pack of young people.

“So why’re you here, long-face?” He asked, already preparing the brandy.

“That’s the thing! There’s like- this invisible umbilical cord that keeps me attached to this place! I can’t escape.” He took a gulp of the drink once Stylson slid it to him, twisting his face as it scorched down his throat.

At the prime age of 23, he found himself obsessed with the power of pubs, especially the Wandering Stone. It was a place that smelled oddly fruity, perhaps acting as a natural pheromone for cute guys looking for a snog or two. However, the effects have seemed to waver over time. He’d get drunk, find someone who was looking for the same thing, bring him home and hope he doesn’t wake his mom and dad up. It was practically a weekly routine. The more he came by though, the less he cared about who's face it was. At the rate he was going, he’d be snuggling the 60-year-old who’d creep around making girls uncomfortable.

Phil always took it as a compliment when the girls hit on him after he told creeps off. It was a pretty unfortunate sight to tell them he was gay though. Their eyes would go wide, and then they’d get sad.

“Maybe you should get out more, yeah?” Jack rubbed his beard.

“I was actually looking at apartments but knowing me, I’d probably come back.” Phil chuckled.

“I might just have to tie your collar to a pole and stick ya’ in the ground, Philip.” His large chest bounced as he shook the pub with laughter. 

He was on his third drink when the front door’s bell jingled. Phil’s drunken eyes had simply glanced at the door, and he was expecting a recognizable face. However, he was met with a jaw to the floor and the sight of a Goddess.

His black skinny jeans and monochrome T-shirt told Phil he was trying to blend in. He was small, having just a hint of natural femininity in his stature, and _goddamn_ did it suit him. He looked so tiny like Phil could just pick him up in put him in his pocket. He looked to be in his early twenties, and he had a squishy face accompanied with big, brown doll-eyes that Phil couldn't loosen his gaze from. He had hair like Phil’s except it was flipped and fluffier. It was a messy, bundled fringe that practically reached past his left eye.

Simply put, he was beautiful.

He looked uncertain, as if he walked into the wrong place, his eyes skimming over every detail of the pub and lingering on the group of drunk kids with quiet fear.

"You seem interested,” Jack said a bit too loudly before following the younger one to the seat several spaces away from Phil.

“What can I get for ya?” His voice was strong. Jack's voice alone seemed like it had enough power to sweep the boy off his feet.

“Do you have lemonade?” The boy mumbled, barely audible enough for Phil to hear.

 _A lemonade? Do pubs even serve lemonade? Why did he come to a pub if he wasn’t going to drink?_ Phil’s mind was wandering miles upon miles.

Phil’s legs were already moving before his brain could make a plan, plopping down next to him obnoxiously.

“A lemonade, huh?” Phil said confidently, using the charismatic skills he’s built after all the time he spent coming here.

The man’s eyes shot up at him, frightened by Phil’s unexpected presence.

His eyes were big. So big and brown. They were like an endless pool of universes, all of which held alluring secrets that Phil was suffocating to uncover. He was surprised and the way he hesitated to meet him screamed distrust, but Phil was hammered. He could barely differentiate right from left — not that he could sober. All that was clear to him was the mysterious angel that descended from heaven and that he wanted to get closer to him. 

He sat down beside him, drink in hand, and stared intently into his puppy eyes, glossy with gorgeous confusion.

“Usually I’d have to pay to see people like you this close," He slurred flirtatiously.

The boy just blinked, his eyelashes fluttering.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyebrows furrowed a bit.

Phil laughed, humored by how rigid he was, and watched as Jack slid the lemonade to the mystery goddess.

“It means you’re pretty.” Phil couldn’t help giggling.

He visibly gulped. Phil was blind to how uncomfortable the boy truly was, not until he picked up his lemonade and turned his attention away from the drunk.

Phil was honestly a bit surprised. His drunken brain told him that Phil was too charismatic to deny, so why was he being rejected?

“So, what are your plans for tonight? Why’d you come to a pub?”

The man avoided eye contact, shrugging as he quietly sipped his drink.

Damn, he was impossible.

“You like to be mysterious, huh?” Phil asked.

“And you like to be a creep?” He shot him an irritated side glance with power unbeknownst to Phil.

Phil raised his eyebrows surprised. In a weird way, he found his remark all the more attractive. He chuckled a bit, turning his body away as not to further intimidate him.

“Sorry. I’m usually a lot cooler around cute guys. Been drinking a bit too much.” He smiled.

The man was silent, the clinking of his drink’s ice cubes against one another being the only sound resonating from him. The soft rock music the pub played 24/7 only complimented it.

“Usually it’s the same faces in and out, but, like, you aren’t a normal face y’know? Which is why I started acting like a dog.”

“If you were a dog, I’d actually like you,” He mumbled.

Phil’s insides sparked excitedly. _What a spitter!_

“Shall I bark for you then?” Phil tilted his head, eyeing the boy playfully.

He looked at Phil, raising an eyebrow at his bizarre choice of words, but stubbornly stayed quiet.

No one was ever this difficult. Usually, the men around this area were desperate, pouncing at any opportunity to go home with someone, but he was… _Different._ Very, very different, which encouraged him all the more. His sharp remarks and coldness only made him entrancing. He knew the boy’s resistance was but a wall for his own safety.

“You wouldn’t come here on your own accord,” Phil remarked.

The man’s eyes met Phil’s briefly, contemplating if he should respond. He placed his drink down and sighed, annoyed and defeated.

“I was invited to a party,” He said simply.

Phil’s head turned to the abundance of young people around the pool table, all of them looking to be his age.

“Are you with them?” Phil asked, pointing to the group.

He sighed, nodding.

“It’s Owen’s birthday -- the guy in the purple shirt. He invited me and at first, I said no, but he promised me no one would be drinking.” He rolled his eyes.

Phil glanced down at his brandy.

“You don’t drink?”

“No. I hate alcohol.”

Phil hummed in response, connecting the dots. 

“None of his friends even like me, so I really don’t know why I bothered.”

“I’m glad you came,” Phil said, smiling a little.

“Yeah, because you’re a horny creep,” He spat. “That’s all pubs are good for.”

Phil didn’t take offense to that. 

“I don’t think it’s fair at all. _Owen_ shouldn’t have invited you if he couldn’t keep his promise.” The name of his friend left his mouth bitterly. 

“Whatever. I don’t care.”

Phil stared at the indifferent group, all of them laughing and yelling at one another. Then he turned to the boy, sunken into himself.

He wondered how such a gorgeous person could be ignored. His mere presence was so enchanting. He was so small and so delicate, practically asking to be wrapped in a comfy blanket and snuggled to death. He was planning to make that fantasy a reality. It was just a matter of _how._

“Who needs them! They’re a bunch of losers!” Phil announced. “We’re gonna have fun by ourselves!”

Phil grabbed his hand, trying to drag him to the karaoke machine no person ever dare touched.

“No no no! I-I can’t!” He pulled himself away quickly, realizing where he was being pulled.

“Yes! Let’s prove them wrong!” Phil said loudly, still _very_ drunk.

“No!” He eyed the group, fear eating at the color in his face.

“Yeees!!!”

The boy managed to wiggle away, retreating to his corner in the pub.

“We’re gonna sing and prove how cool we are!” Phil said, his eyes gleaming at the man.

The boy looked horrified, shaking his head furiously as he sunk back.

“Please, no, you don’t understand-”

“Hell yeah I do!” Phil yelled, raising his arms in the air as he started towards the karaoke machine, apparently giving up on trying to get the man to join him.

Phil, drunk with confidence, put some money in and went through the selection, looking for the Britney Spears song he’d often rehearse in the shower. He turned it on and glanced at Jack who seemed pretty entertained, smirking while preparing a customer their drink. The mystery boy, however, looked mortified.

“I dedicate this song to the cute guy over there that ordered lemonade! I wanted him to sing with me but he’s a little shy so I’ll just perform by myself but it’s all good I’m a pretty good singer-”

Before he could fully finish his rambling, the lyrics came up on the screen cutting his speech short.

“Baby, can’t you see I’m p-calling! A guy like you w-should wear a waaarning.’”

It was embarrassing, to say the least, but Phil just wanted the boy to feel better. He kept his eyes locked on his, feeling a twinkle of achievement within himself as his gaze slowly grew soft.

The group across the room now turned their attention to the obnoxiously drunk man singing a Britney Spears song horribly off-key, chuckling a bit.

He was getting to the pre-chorus when he saw Owen walk over to the boy, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Owen looked apologetic, but what made him feel even better was the fact that he looked more interested in Phil than whatever the birthday boy was saying.

He had a big grin on his face while talking to Owen, staring intently at Phil. Phil decided to turn his full attention back to performing to his captivated audience. His arms whipped around enthusiastically, and he spun like a ballerina as he sang. The faces of his audience were all the same: concerned, but no doubt entertained.

He was a weirdo, that was obvious, but he knew how to seem like a confident weirdo. He knew how funny he must’ve looked, slurring the lyrics to a Britney Spears song while dancing like a newborn giraffe. He saw some of the group members sing along with Phil and even spotted a couple of adults by themselves grinning while watching the flailing man.

After a while, he turned back to the boy who was, surprisingly, still watching him.

“I’m addicted to you, don’t you know that you’re toxiiiiic?” Phil narrowed his eyes and pointed at him.

In response to this, the group of kids ‘Ooo’ed. Phil wiggled his body suggestively as if he were a snake, and the boy he sang for hid his face, shielding his mixture of disappointment and embarrassment.

Phil knew he was good. Only a couple minutes ago was Phil just a weird creep, but now he was a weird, lovable creep. He was making progress. Phil didn’t know if the ridiculous Britney Spears gesture was the appropriate way of introducing himself, but he was having a good time, and so was the mystery angel. At least he had that.

By the end of the song, Phil was heaving and breathless, chuckling as everyone in the pub clapped and cheered for him. He stumbled off the small stage and toward the boy, swimming in the happy glow he was suddenly emitting.

“Did you like it?” Phil asked leaning against the counter, still trying to catch his breath.

The boy’s eyes were sparkly, and he had a large smile on his face. Phil was so tempted to cup his rosy cheeks and pepper him with all kinds of loving kisses, but he finally seemed to earn his respect. Now is most certainly not the time to lose control.

The man shoved at him playfully.

“You’re so embarrassing!” He giggled.

Phil’s breath was taken. He stared longingly at the dimple that popped up. It was such a large indent and all he wanted to do was poke it.

It suddenly occurred to Phil that the reason why there was such a large dimple on his face was because of the even larger smile, which Phil was responsible for. Phil made the boy so happy that his little face friend decided to come out of his hiding place just to say hello. He marveled in his accomplishment, so much so that he mirrored the large smile on the man’s face. He couldn’t help but let his tongue slip between his teeth, an embarrassing habit he’d always attempt to hide behind his hand.

Their chuckles calmed and Phil slipped back into the seat next to him.

“Thanks for that, I guess,” The man said quietly.

“Of course, sweet pea,” Phil slipped. “Sorry- Didn't mean to say that.”

Phil attempted to giggle, side-eyeing him. His soft expression didn’t seem to die out though, even when Phil said something weird. If anything, his tiny smile grew.

“No, it’s okay,” He said, taking another sip of his lemonade.

Phil gulped. Was he really getting comfortable enough to the point that Phil’s weird names were tolerable? Was the mystery man actually warming up to this idiot?

Without really meaning to, Phil let a tiny laugh slip from all the thrill.

“With all seriousness, I apologize for coming on so strong. I'm just so used to it being easier to like- approach people I guess. I shouldn’t be judging you by how utterly breathtaking you are-” Phil did it again and caught himself far too late. “Sorry, I don't mean to- I can’t keep my mouth shut.”

Phil didn’t know if it was the alcohol working in his system or if he was honest to God seeing this, but the man's cheeks seemed warmer, tinted a darker color of pink. His heart did twirls and somersaults, watching as the man side-eyed him inquisitively.

His doll eyes lingered on him for a moment, watching Phil closely and taking secret notes.

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up.” He seemed to mumble it to himself.

Phil’s head tilted ever so slightly, confused by his statement.

“What do you mean?” Phil pressed on.

He shook his head, the smile plastered on his face barely wavering.

“People who come to bars are gross. They’re alcoholics. They’re unpleasant to be around. They aren’t supposed to be nice.” His eyes had a faraway look.

Phil felt a tickle within him. Was he implying something?

“Oh yeah?” Phil propped up his head on his hand, staring fondly at the Goddess before him.

The man’s eyes met Phil’s somewhat hesitantly.

“You aren’t supposed to come to bars.”

Phil’s chest tightened, his statement making him breathless. Phil didn't want to seem too affected by it though. He wanted to prove he was unwavering, no matter how powerful his simple implications may be. Or how affected Phil was by the loveliness of the way he spoke his words or how he looked when he was flattered.

Phil stared at him, exploring the freckles and spots on his face. Every little thing his eyes discovered only made the adoration stronger.

“Well, if I didn’t come here, I wouldn’t have met you.”

The man rolled his eyes, a glint of warmth twinkling in his irises.

“I’ve never been the type to go to bars, but suddenly, I was. I think it was just the universe silently guiding me to you.”

He glared at Phil playfully.

“I don’t believe in that stuff.” His voice was somewhat mocking to Phil’s proposition.

Phil was too in love to care about his discouraging words, so he just stared deeper into his soul.

“Do you believe we’re meant to be?”

“Only after you sang Britney Spears in my honor.” His eyes wandered around the pub.

Phil chuckled deeply. He wasn’t exactly satisfied by his answer, even if it did make him dizzy.

“You really think we’re destined for each other?”

He faced Phil with a wide smile, his dimple popping up once again. His eyes were squinty and full of color, nothing compared to earlier.

“Perhaps.” He said. “But I don’t have much to go off of besides the fact you’re a huge dork.”

Phil lost himself in his beauty for a moment, mirroring his beaming expression once he escaped his labyrinth.

“I’ll take that over a no,” Phil responded, feeling his body inadvertently leaning closer to him.

His gravity was intense, after all. All he wanted to do was hold and squish him. Hold his hand. Pinch his cheeks. Kiss his forehead. 

The boy turned back to his lemonade, the ice cubes that once floated among his drink now small and melted. His lips pinched the edge of the drink, sipping silently. He placed the cup down, refraining from making too much noise. He didn’t like drawing attention to himself, Phil caught onto that quickly. He loved him for that. 

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

His eyes met Phil’s in confirmation.

“Can we watch Wall-E together at my house?”

The boy blinked a couple of times, trying to understand what the man just asked.

“What?”

“I want to watch a movie with you.”

The man was silent for a moment. He stared at Phil, wondering if he was joking.

“You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Phil answered, sliding his hand to the boys' lemonade.

He took a small drink, watching the man’s eyes continue to dazzle. Phil’s throat was getting so dry. He returned it back to him, thanking him as he sighed.

“So what do you say? You wanna cuddle up together and cry?”

His breath hitched and his eyes averted.

“Well…” He turned back to the group that had quieted over time. “I um…”

Phil wasn’t sure if he was hesitant to leave his friends or hesitant to leave with him. Maybe he thought Phil would hurt him. Did he not feel safe with him yet? Was his embarrassing performance and inability to talk like a respectful human being not enough?

“You don’t have to, of course! That was just my plan for tonight anyway.” Phil smiled.

The boy’s eyes settled on the ground, thinking silently. A moment later, he inhaled. Then exhaled.

“Only on one condition,” He started, looking up at Phil wearily. “As long as you promise not to try anything.”

Phil sat up straight, overwhelmingly happy to hear he was being given a chance.

“Of course not! I wouldn’t touch you a 10-foot pole!” Phil choked a bit on his words, scared it came off as rude. “I-I mean like since you asked me to! I would totally touch you! In a very wholesome way. But since you asked me not to I won’t, obviously! That would be weird.”

The boy watched with wide eyes as Phil clumsily scrambled around his words, the red on his face growing worse and worse. He looked horrified in the most entertained way imaginable. He had a smile that was growing as did the amount of Phil’s horrible choice of words. Phil just stared helplessly at him, praying that he didn’t just ruin everything with his mouth that moved faster than his brain. He just gawked at him, silently deciding whether or not to laugh.

“You amaze me, Phil.” He grinned.

Phil stared at him for a moment, lost at the way his mouth worked. He amazed the boy, so much so that he deserved being addressed by his own name. The angelic voice of the goddess thought he was worthy enough to have his name be spoken, let alone followed by a title such as “amazing”. Did he really deserve it?

It didn’t even cross his mind of how he knew his name. He was far too encompassed with the fact that he was considered amazing by the boy.

“Thank you,” Phil breathed out, once again finding himself falling in the boy’s lovely eclipses.

He just admired him, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You’re so weird,” He said.

Phil kept getting lost in him, almost forgetting that he was supposed to take the boy home. He felt his legs get a bit weak as he paid for his drinks, including the boy’s.

“Jack, this might be the last time I see you,” Phil said, whispering as he leaned over the counter.

“Not the first time I've heard that one," He mumbled.

“No! I’m serious this time!” Phil argued. “I’ve never been so in love with someone.”

“Ah, you’re still so young, Phil,” Jack said as he wiped the counter. “Get going, though. Keep talking to me and the love of your life might get taken away by mister purple over there.”

Phil whipped around confused, only to see Owen and him talking. He ignored the laughter coming from Jack and stared at the two intently. Phil couldn’t swallow his jealousy down, scared the two may have had some sort of history that he was unaware of. Worse, they may actually like each other. Why else does Owen keep putting his damn hand on his shoulder? And why does the boy keep looking at Owen with the puppy eyes that belonged to Phil?

His legs begin moving, and the boy’s eyes flickered over to him, as did Owen’s.

“I just paid for our drinks. Ready to head out?” Phil tried keeping his green-eyed monster in its restraints.

“Hey uh, do you know this guy?” Owen asked, turning back to the boy.

Puzzled, he turned to look up at Phil, then put two and two together.

“Oh, yeah! He’s cool!” He assured Owen, smiling after meeting his gaze.

“Are you sure? He’s not bothering you?” Owen whispered, peering up at Phil.

Phil’s anger piled some more as he heard the distrusting tone of his voice. Phil wouldn’t hurt a fly! Let alone the very person he wanted to marry and run away with.

“If I was bothering him, he would’ve told you so,” Phil said, stepping closer to intervene.

Owen’s eyes met Phil’s, irritation filling them.

“I wasn’t asking you,” He retorted, assessing him mockingly.

“Yes, he’s fine,” The boy stated, cutting off the angry staring contest between Phil and Owen.

“Seems like a dick to me,” Owen mumbled just loud enough for Phil to hear.

“Coming from the very person who invited their friend who doesn’t drink over to a party where everyone’s _drinking!”_ Phil spat back, the thrill of his come back lighting him on fire.

“He said he was fine with it!” Owen snarled.

“Oh did he now? Then would you care to tell me why he was hiding from you and all of your friends?”

He opened his mouth to start arguing, but Phil was quick to cut him off.

“Could you tell me how he felt coming into a pub only to see a bunch of people he doesn’t even know drunk off their asses? Could you tell me how he felt? Or are you just going to tell me some words he felt like he had to say because he wanted you to have a nice birthday?”

Owen looked a little speechless behind a face of boiling blood, but Phil let the brandy keep talking before he could even think.

“He came here for you, dickbag. He came here thinking he’d finally be apart of something, then you got caught up with your own drunk hoo-gang that you completely forgot about him. I suppose he doesn’t matter all that much though, does he?”

“Stop talking shit to me about stuff that doesn't even concern you! For your information, he’s one of my closest friends!” Owen yelled.

"Sounds like a pretty intimate relationship to me to let him sit alone while everyone enjoys themselves. That’s what's going through your head right now. Fuck that guy, am I right? He isn’t affecting anyone. He’ll just go back home and we can keep being loud and stupid. Because we're _close friends._ He'll _understand._ ”

If Phil kept going, he swore he was going to get punched, so he took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Alright, have a good birthday, Owen. We’re gonna watch movies while you get hungover,” Phil said, smiling sardonically before turning back to the boy.

Phil slithered his hand over the boy’s shoulder and led him out without another word. 

Phil was beyond surprised by the words that left his mouth, but the speechlessness that followed Owen left him feeling pretty cocky.

Phil’s hand fell from his shoulder when they reached the pavement, and as soon as he did, the boy stopped dead in his tracks. Phil turned to him, briefly forgetting that he just told his friend off. He stared into the wide eyes of the boy, worried that he just ruined everything he built up over the night. Were Owen and him _too_ close?

“Are you okay?” Phil asked quietly. 

He stared for a moment, but he quickly cleared his throat and caught back up to Phil.

“Yeah, sorry. Just a bit shocked that all uh… Happened.”

Phil couldn’t pinpoint any anger on his face. Just pure astonishment. It was relieving to say the least, but not 100% reassuring. Phil heaved silently, keeping himself together for the man he was leading home.

~

Usually, when Phil brought another man home, there weren't many thoughts and questions poking at his brain. Of course though, this was different. He was different.

Phil brought a man who stood too far away from him. What was most ironic was that he just so happened to have stolen Phil’s entire heart. He’s had crushes before, perhaps lust for a hot guy he’d run into, sometimes mild obsessions with actors, but it was never like this. It was never to the extent that Phil needed to prove himself to be the best in every way shape or form. The love he had for people was never this precious. It never made him this breathless. It never made his heartbeat this fast.

The boy was a flower. Sometimes, he was a Venus flytrap, intimidating but undeniably alluring. This time, he was a precious lady slipper, meant to be admired and protected.

He stood unsure, looking the same as he had when he entered the Wandering Stone. His eyes darted from detail to detail, uncertain and almost regretful. Phil could feel self-consciousness enter his skin, worried he was being judged for his little space, which was something he never had to worry about.

“If you ever get uncomfortable, just remember that my parents are down the hall so all you’d have to do is scream!”

Phil didn’t know why he bothered speaking at this point.

“Thanks,” He said, cracking a wry grin as he attempted to laugh.

Phil mentally choked himself, trying so hard to understand why the boy still found reason to deal with this socially strangled man. Phil didn't know how to get a guy to love him. That’s never been a motivation, but now that he’d been thrown so unprepared into this horrifying position, he _has_ to prove himself a worthy contestant of his time and energy.

Phil scrambled to resolve the awkward silence by getting the movie ready on his TV. It was a generously sized television, something he definitely didn’t utilize enough, especially when the most he’d use it for was re-watching _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ in its entirety every couple of months. Phil had to shovel through his large pile of discs in order to find the movie.

“Make yourself at home!” Phil said, glancing back at the board-like figure standing rigid in the doorway. “What’s mine is yours. Are you thirsty? I might have lemonade if we’re lucky.”

“Um- no I’m okay," He retorted, slowly stepping around the clutter that inhabited the floors.

“Are you sure? I can grab you something! Actually, let’s make popcorn first! You stay here and I’ll make popcorn! I’ll get crisps too!” Phil panicked.

He was an utter mess. He thought watching a movie with the love of his life would be easier. Or, at the very least, manageable.

Phil threw the package of popcorn into the microwave. He anxiously paced around the kitchen, wondering why it was taking so long to finish. What if he was planning his escape? What if he had already snuck out? What would Phil do if he left? How would he ever get him back? What if this was his only chance? He was far too beautiful for Phil. Far too perfect, far too precious. Did Phil really deserve him? Did he really deserve to watch movies with him, let alone fathom the idea of it?

What if the messiness of his room turned him off? What if all his teenage posters and knick-knacks made him seem too weird?

Phil tried smacking himself out of his spiral of overthinking and pulled the popcorn out of the microwave before it burned. He poured it into a large bowl, seasoning it with salt but not too much in case his guest didn’t favor it.

Phil opened his fridge and, like a gift from the lords, was greeted with a large pitcher of glorious lemonade. If his mom made it, surely the boy would have to stay with Phil, whether it was because he liked him or just to have the delicious drink his mother made again.

He hastily returned to his room and stopped to watch whatever the man was doing. He had been sifting through his pile of DVD cases, an unorganized mess that consisted of multiple rock albums, a variety of video games, and old films he’d often watch with his brother, Martyn.

Phil watched him anxiously, awaiting the mockery. Was he a loser to him? Was he disgusted with him?

“You… You listen to Muse?” The boy’s eyes met Phil’s as he rose Origin of Symmetry.

Phil stared blankly at him, mouth falling agape.

 _“You_ listen to Muse?”

“Yeah?!” His face lit up like a lighthouse.

Phil’s heart rate couldn’t be higher.

Was the person before him real? The prettiest person in the universe, the only person who’s ever made Phil feel the way he does just happens to listen to his favorite band in the universe? It was getting harder and harder for Phil to refrain from making a fool out of himself just to prove his undying love.

“Is this Final Fantasy?!” He was going through everything scattered across Phil’s dresser now. “Kingdom Hearts, Dragon Quest... Spyro-- Of course you'd own Spyro. Harvest Moon-Oh my God, Crash Bandicoot was my childhood!”

It took so much out of Phil to keep from getting down on one knee and offering the boy his life and soul. The beloved angel before him, radiating color and love, was a nerd. An undeniably gorgeous, horrendously infatuating dork. It was like someone took everything Phil ever wanted in a guy and plopped him down on Earth.

He was speechless as he stared into the big, bright eyes of the boy. His eyes glistened with excitement as he held up multiple cases of games that he too obsessed over. The only thing Phil could do was gawk and smile widely at him, trying to unwind all the things he desperately wanted to jabber about.

“God, you’re a bigger nerd than me,” He said, shaking his head as he set all the discs he had piled in his hands back, except for one. “I found Wall-E, by the way.”

Phil was still standing at the front of his room with a bewildered look, hands still full of treats. Once he saw the case, he regained his composure and returned back to reality. Or at least, he attempted to.

“Oh!” He cleared his throat. “Good! I got all of our- uh- snacks ready! As you can see.” Phil put everything down on a nearby table and, shakily, picked up the boy’s drink and outstretched his hand.

“Turns out we did have lemonade after all!”

He accepted the drink with a look of admiration. It was a delicate look, almost like he found Phil cute. He got that look twice now. Yes, Phil had been counting. 

Enchantment, infatuation, yearning, you name it. Phil had it for him. How his heart didn’t explode from all the emotions was a mystery. He knew almost nothing about him but, frankly, he didn’t need to. Yeah, maybe he was a serial killer, but if it meant Phil could spend the rest of his life with him, he’d offer up several organs.

He finally set everything down and placed the DVD in his player. He watched as the machine accepted it and, like time went into slow-mo, he turned back to the boy who was sliding under Phil’s covers. He watched as his hands gently lifted the duvet as if the cloth itself was sensitive. He was so considerate, patting it back down and tucking himself in.

Phil’s legs started getting shaky. He was about to sit next to him. He was about to spend the next hour sat close to the only person in the universe he wanted to be with. They were going to sit in absolute silence, aside from the not-so-occasional munching and sipping.

Phil was going to faint.

The idea was intoxicating in and of itself, but the reality just about killed him. He shuffled over to his light switch and flicked it off. Phil, more nervous than he’s ever been, crawled onto his bed and under his covers, making sure not to sit too close.

“You excited?” Phil peeped.

He held his cup close to his chest.

“Yeah!” His energy was noticeably higher. “I never got to finish this movie.”

“Really? Oh my God, it’s so good. You’ll cry.”

“Maybe you should get me tissues,” He giggled over the cute opening music.

“Hopefully tears aren’t the only thing we’ll be needing tissues for.” Phil didn't mean to say that.

He nearly smacked himself across the face. How could he say that?! Especially after he literally told Phil not to try anything!

“Shut it!” He said, giggling and elbowing him.

He wasn’t… Upset? Or weirded out? What else could that huge grin mean? Those eye crinkles, that goddamn dimple. The precious dents and spots that decorated his face when Phil entertained him, the loving twinkles. What else could it signify besides admiration?

Phil laughed with him, subconsciously scooting closer until their arms were nearly touching. As Phil opened the loud, crinkly bag of crisps, he started paying more attention to the film they were supposed to be watching.

It was a little difficult though. And by "a little difficult", he meant _really_ difficult. The boy sat beside him stared longingly at the movie, focused on the cute story. His big, dark eyes reflected the screen like a still lake. It made him wonder what his eyes would look like under a starry night. The moonlight would probably make his skin glisten. 

The boy turned to eye him, a smile creeping on his face

“Watch the film, you dork!”

“Sorry,” Phil giggled quietly. “It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.”

Phil was expecting him to roll his eyes, or maybe even another nudge. That sort of contact always sent electricity through his soul. However, he just stared for a moment, examining Phil’s every move. Then, his glance fell, a tiny smiling slipping, and returned his attention to the movie.

It was bizarre. He almost looked… Sad? But even then, that soft, loving twinkle remained in the depths of his pupils. Untouched. Unwavering.

Phil too tried to return his focus to the film, and slowly but surely got sucked in.

It was the scene where Wall-E and Eve met for the first time. Small giggles left the boy beside him, causing Phil himself to smile subconsciously. He was comfortable enough to laugh. Comfortable enough to show that he was enjoying himself.

Then, he was trying to pull the duvet up to his chin and, without permission, helped himself to tuck the boy in. Phil made sure to cover every visible part of his skin so he was nice and warm, and the man only laughed in response.

“Thanks…” He mumbled quietly.

“I would never forgive myself if I let my lovely guest get cold,” Phil said, meeting his gaze hesitantly, afraid he might get sucked in again and accidentally start making out with him.

He almost did too. Just like every time he stared into his doll-eyes.

“Why do you keep staring at me like that…?” His question was drawn out and delicate.

It was then that Phil realized how close to his face he was. He laughed nervously, pushing himself away and trying to keep from fainting.

“Sorry, is it weird?”

“No, it’s um- It’s not weird. It’s just…” He floundered around with his words. “I don’t know… It’s not bad or anything...”

Phil never knew he had this much self-control. All he wanted to do was kiss him. Phil just wanted to hold him close to his chest and play with his hair. Kiss his forehead as he fell asleep on top of him.

“You’re doing it again.” He smiled, staring at Phil through his forest of eyelashes.

Phil turned away, rubbing his neck and forcing the best laugh he could and apologizing more than necessary.

“I honest to God can’t help it. You just make my face really uh- happy.”

He giggled. It was such a bouncy sound that never failed to light up Phil’s entire universe. It was so special and unique, stirring so many feelings within Phil.

“I’ll stop staring at you when you stop being so damn cute,” Phil commented, holding an intense stare as the boy’s smile grew larger.

“God- Phil, watch the damn movie!!” He squealed, shoving Phil some more.

Phil could’ve sworn the boy’s face was red. Maybe he was imagining things, but he was hopeful. Very hopeful.

Phil calmed down a little and immersed himself back into the universe of Wall-E. He couldn’t help but lean in a bit closer to the man next to him, his gravity growing stronger and stronger. Their shoulders were now pressed against one another. It was oddly securing, making Phil wonder what it would feel like if his arms were wrapped around the boy’s figure.

Phil reached across the boy to grab a handful of crisps, munching and thinking quietly as the movie continued.

It was then that Phil felt movement. It was a slithering feeling, and he flinched some when he noticed the sensation. Phil looked down and saw the small hands wrapping around Phil’s bicep, and he swore his vision started tunneling. Just as quickly as he had wrapped himself around Phil’s arm though, he pulled it away.

“I-I’m sorry I-I shouldn’t have-” The boy stuttered, shrinking into himself as he stared helplessly at the ground..

“Hey hey, it’s okay!” Phil assured, loitering his hands on his forearm. “I don’t mind!”

“N-no no it’s weird- I don’t want to- it’s too weird.” His voice shook and his face bloomed into a deep crimson color.

His hair covered a large portion of his face, and Phil felt the ever-growing need to push some of that hair back so he could kiss his forehead. He only smiled though, and wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders, assuring him that he was safe to move closer. He jolted underneath him, stiffening up.

“It’s completely okay to touch me,” Phil said, trying hard to comfort him.

His body slowly crept to a state of relaxation. Obviously, he wasn’t used to it, and Phil could feel that, but he made an obvious gesture that implied he was okay with contact. Surely, drunk Phil wasn’t messing anything up by holding him.

With every passing second, he seemed to put more and more of his weight on Phil. It was a sign of trust, and Phil salivated in it. He couldn’t help but rub the shoulder he had been holding, subconsciously pushing the boy beneath him closer into his chest.

Phil’s heart rate had started skyrocketing, and with how close the boy was to his chest, he was almost certain he could feel it. Or perhaps even hear it. His body started getting sweaty, but he didn’t dare budge, scared out of his mind that even the slightest of movement would cause the very angel to retreat. So he stayed as still as humanly possible.

The boy he held had seemed to have gotten intertwined with the movie’s plot, but Phil could only give it a quarter of his attention. He was far too busy basking in the luxurious smell below him. Like a fly trapped in a spiderweb, Phil was stuck, and he was being woven deeper and deeper into infatuation. As the night carried on, it only became harder not to drown in the boy’s unintentional web.

A tornado of questions swirled through his mind. _What would it be like to hold his hand? What would it feel like to hug him? How would he feel if I just kissed him right now? Should I? Should I just confess every feeling I’ve felt in the last two hours right now? Or should I wait until the movie ends? Or should I never speak a word to him? Should I keep my mouth shut? Will I have to walk him home or will he stay to cuddle? Perhaps he’ll be too tired to walk home. Will I have to sleep on the sofa?_

“Why did you talk to me?”

Phil was pulled out of his mind storm abruptly.

“Sorry?” He questioned, turning to look at the boy.

“Out of everyone in the pub, why did you talk to me? There were so many people, and even when I told you off, you still… Kept at it.” His eyes flickered up at him hesitantly.

Phil’s insides turned into a warm gravy, oozing him with luxury.

“You made these huge fireworks go off in me,” Phil breathed out. “Never in my life had I ever felt so complete until the moment I talked to you.”

He was silently thinking, but Phil was only met with a chuckle.

“What?” Phil grinned. “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you’re drunk.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m that drunk.”

The boy resituated his head back on his chest, especially gentle and tender with how he placed himself on Phil.

“Sober people don’t say stuff like that.” He mumbled quite sadly.

Phil took a second to think about that. He obviously has a very bad relationship with alcohol, so much so that he disregarded everything that Phil managed to muster. He doesn’t know how to prove to the love of his life that his feelings are true. At least not now. Not with the brandy still lingering through his system and the obvious smell staining Phil’s breath.

“I talked to you because I fell in love with you,” Phil said, letting his head fall back helplessly, believing even this would prove to be worthless. Still, he attempted.

The boy beneath him froze.

“And I know you probably think I’m just being a stupid drunk,” Phil chuckled. “But even drunk, I know my feelings.”

Phil swore the man stopped breathing.

“Even though I’m a big idiot that sometimes makes dumb decisions,” Phil’s smile grew. “I know for a fact I’m in love with you-”

Suddenly, Phil was falling back.

The first thing his mind registered was his head landing on his pillow. The second thing his mind registered was warmth. Overwhelming warmth. Warmth everywhere.

There was a warm squishiness on his torso, and Phil’s mind wandered up and found there was warmth on his face. Warmth on his cheeks. Warmth on his lips.

But why was his body warm? Why were his lips warm? Phil’s eyes opened slowly and the realization hit him like a meteor.

His love. He was on top of Phil. He was kissing Phil.

The goddess Phil only dared bowing to now lay on top of him with his very lips placed delicately upon his own. His warm, ridiculously soft hands cupped his face tenderly. The very petals that Phil felt far too undeserving to have lay stagnant on his own. Soft and perfect.

Colors that shouldn’t exist exploded within him with great power. Fireworks. Just like when he first saw him, except these reached into space. These fireworks reached past our solar system and exploded like the big bang. It created a whole new universe within our own. Aurora borealis’ spanned out light-years upon light-years. The colors of a sunset replaced the dark and cold vacuum that was overhead. It wiped clean all evil and sadness that plagued us. Only magic was left. Only love and desire. Only Phil and his love. Forever lay floating within the beautiful universe they manifested together with but a single kiss.

Then, he pulled away.

Phil was breathless. Face on fire, eyes wide with love, heart thumping with adrenaline, head dizzy with emotion. He couldn’t muster a single word, let alone a noise. All he could do was stare into his doll eyes, big and full of captivating darkness that warmed Phil head to toe.

They stared at one another, heaving and red.

This had become Phil’s favorite fantasy. Phil stared up at him, his shy eyes scared but glazed with a thin layer of attraction, mouth open ajar.

Without warning, Phil raised himself up, grabbed his face, and smooshed his lips back onto his. Phil was much more forceful with his kiss than the boy. He pushed him back, making sure he was falling on his bed and nothing that may hurt him. On top of him, he cradled his face and moved their lips with beautiful sync.

Phil didn’t dare go any further than kissing. He promised the boy he was safe, promised that he wouldn’t try anything. It’s not like he was complaining.

They continued until the boy pushed away, hands on Phil’s heaving chest. They caught their breath, staring at each other with something unknown.

“Holy shit.” Phil said, amazement catching up to him. 

The boy laughed breathlessly, smiling up at Phil as his dilated eyes stayed glued to his.

“You kissed me.”

“You wouldn’t shut up,” He giggled, face swirling with all sorts of colors.

“Man, maybe I should talk more often.” Phil leaned down and kissed his cheek.

He wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck and pulled him into an embrace. They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying how close they were together. The boy smelled like a flower. He was a flower after all. The prettiest of all the flowers.

“Your breath tastes like alcohol,” He sighed, voice sad again.

Phil gulped but prayed he was merely misinterpreting him.

“I can go brush my teeth if you’d like. I’m pretty sure I got celery somewhere in my fridge.”

He didn't say anything. He just gestured for Phil to lift himself up.

The boy beside him wiped his mouth quietly. The color was gone. Then, stood up.

“I’m sure my mum is worried. I told her I wouldn’t be gone for too long,” He said, voice indifferent. 

And just like that, Phil fell from Cloud 9 with a harsh crash, wiping out every single galaxy in its path. All his hopes and dreams, all the trust he thought he had built up-- It was all destroyed. 

“What? Wait, we can just call her! I-I’m sure she’ll be okay with you staying the night!” He panicked. 

His brown irises, thick like molasses, interlocked with Phil’s. It was blank, but he was thinking. He could sense the hesitance, the same hesitance that plagued him the second they met. After all the progress he thought he had made, the restraints were still there. The distrust, wariness, the doubts-- they still hung on the boy like diamond earrings.

“I mean- obviously that’s up to you! I-I’m not keeping you captive or anything.” Phil laughed through the fear that swarmed him.

He can’t leave. He just can’t. If he did, he’ll fly away. Far away. He’ll find someone better, forget everything Phil tried to convey with his drunken tongue and bad words. His pretty eyes will stare at someone else. His pretty lips will be on someone else’s. He can’t let him go. Not now.

Then, there was a sigh. A deep sigh. A sigh that didn’t belong to Phil.

“Whatever. I guess I’ll stay the night.” His voice was deep with something.

Phil had never felt such beautiful relief.

“Cool! Do you- uh… Wanna finish the movie? Or maybe we could play a game?” Phil offered, his smile growing larger.

“Could we just… Sleep?”

Sleep?

“Yeah! Did I drain you?” He attempted to joke.

He didn’t reply.

Something was wrong. It was as obvious as the sun in a clear sky.

The boy climbed back onto Phil’s bed. Still silent. Still unreadable.

“Alright, well, I can sleep on the floor. Or if you want my room to yourself, I can just sleep on the sofa.”

“Whatever’s fine.” His voice was so monotone. 

Phil watched a bit stunned as he climbed back on his bed.

What was happening?

“Okay, I uh- I’ll get some more blankets.”

As he left the room, silence following close behind, he felt… Defeated. Was this really it? Did he lose already? What did he do?

Phil scavenged through their storage closet for spare blankets, knowing they were somewhere under the rest of their clutter. Finally, he felt something soft. Something comforting. Comforting like the angel he met at his favorite pub. Comforting like the goddess he embarrassed himself for. Comfort and love, the only things his future husband deserved. The only thing Phil wanted to give him.

The boy was a flower. A flower he wanted to pick, put into a vase and take home. A flower he wanted to put on his windowsill and admire. Though, something was in the way.

Phil gripped the blanket and pillow close to his chest. Returning to his room, he saw the man still there. Still there, except laying with his back facing him and duvet pulled over his body. He would give anything to wrap his arms around the lump under his bed. Hold him against his chest and focus on the tiny breaths that tickled his bare skin. Fall asleep while playing with his hair, but he was meant to sleep on the cold floor, far away from any of his dreams. 

Phil left the door ajar and plopped his pillow down onto the ground. He whispered a glance at the boy again. He was so still.

He was wrapping his lengthy body with a blanket too small for his length when he heard a small shuffle emit from his bed.

“Goodnight, Phil…”

Strained. His voice was strained. Strained and sad, and it tore Phil’s heart into two. He couldn’t just ignore it. He wouldn’t. He refused.

Phil, knowing better but denying logic, climbed into his bed and eased himself right behind him.

It was probably too much. It probably made him uncomfortable. It probably made him want to scream and run away. Phil bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to remain calm, contemplating his next course of action.

“I’m really sorry,” the boy peeped out. “I-I… I’m so bad at this.”

To his surprise, he rolled over to face Phil, eyes glossy.

“I’m trying so hard to hate you, Phil."

“Why do you keep saying that?”

His eyes were red and shifty. They were filled with doubt. Filled with fear.

“I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?” The curiosity ate at Phil like acid.

He shook his head and leaned into Phil.

“I don’t want to think about it,” He mumbled. “Could you just... I don't know...”

Phil melted, understanding his body language as if they were spoken words, and wrapped his wobbly arms around his body. He wandered his hands up and down his back, feeling the cloth ripple beneath his fingertips. He felt so breakable.

He shuttered underneath Phil.

“You’re tickling me,” He grumbled.

“Sorry. I like touching you.” Phil imagined the boy's face turning pink. “Can I touch you forever?” 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

They just laughed together, no explanation necessary.

He knew nothing about him, yet he knew everything. Knew he wanted to hold him like this forever. Knew he wanted to talk to him for the rest of time. He wanted to listen to every single story. He wanted to hear all his favorite memories. He wanted to be apart of everything. He wanted to know his life like the back of his hand. Wanted to recite his hopes and dreams like his favorite song. Wanted to be the author of his biography. Wanted to be apart of that biography.

“I think you’re my soulmate.” He peered down at him, meeting his curious eyes.

The boys' eyes grew wide, and it seemed like his face lost color yet, at the same time, filled with endless amounts of it. Phil saw glossiness, and the boy blinked conflicted. For a moment, Phil was terrified. Not until the boy's hands slithered up, took ahold his face, and gave him a sweet kiss.

It was nothing like their first kiss. This was special. This was for him. This was a kiss people who love each other give. It made Phil shivery and cold when his entire body was boiling. Every hair on his body stood up like they were all reaching for the heavens. Phil quite literally felt as though he just arrived there.

He was finally able to appreciate the true delicacy of his lips. They were chapped, but Phil couldn't care less.

He pulled away, his eyes sadder than ever before.

“I love you, Phil. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Phil's heart stopped.

“I’ve never been so happy before in my life.”

The man's bottom lip trembled.

“I’ll love you forever.”

Phil’s eyes begin to water. He said he loved Phil. He admitted to Phil everything he had ever wanted. Everything he fantasized about in the small amount of time he knew him.

He didn't have the words to express his happiness or the other million emotions flooding his system. All he could think to do was pull him back into a secure embrace, once more gluing their lips together.

Everything felt perfect, almost like his entire life was leading up to this moment. His universe had been completed. His every hope and dream was at Phil’s fingertips. It was his. This was his. Phil closed his eyes and swam in the boy’s love. Swam in the fact he was finally his. Swam in the alien happiness. Such a beautiful feeling, an emotion he never could’ve even thought to have existed before this moment.

Phil didn’t even realize how carried away he was getting, falling deeper within the man's kiss. He had felt tiny taps on his chest, a gentle reminder that oxygen was necessary.

He parted from him, eyeing the tears that belonged both to him and Phil. They could only laugh.

His words bounced off the walls of Phil’s head over and over like a bouncy ball.

_I love you, Phil._

_I’ll love you forever._

_I’ve never been so happy before in my life._

“You’ll love me forever? Forever and ever?” Phil mumbled, a stupid smile plastered on his face.

His sad eyes crinkled happily.

“You're such a nerd," He said quietly. "But yeah... Forever.”

Phil never felt happiness like this. It should be illegal to feel this happy. The universe should be imploding from how impossible this was. He choked a bit and wiped each tear away.

Phil pulled his love in close. Held him like this was the last time he ever would. It wasn't true though, because he knew he’d be with him forever. They’d grow old together, hold hands as they walked through a beautiful garden, and it would remind Phil of his favorite person in the universe. Every flower they’d excitedly point out would remind Phil of the person next to him. Maybe he could buy one of the flowers and give it to his own, maybe he’d get to push the hair out of his face and place the flower behind his ear.

He didn’t need to question whether or not he’d look good with it. After all, he would look good with anything. He’d look so good in the suit that he’d wear to their wedding. Maybe he’d wear a dress, perhaps one with beautiful flowers stitched onto it that flowed like a river. Or maybe he’d want the elegant type, the kind that hugged every beautiful curve on his body. Either way, no matter what he wore on their wedding day, he’d look beautiful.

He’d look beautiful in the morning when the daylight kissed his cranky face. He’d look beautiful brushing his teeth, maybe complaining about bills or how much cereal Phil went through. He’d look beautiful cooking breakfast and lecturing Phil about forgetting to buy milk. He’d look beautiful every time he cried in Phil’s shoulders about how he doesn’t know what to do with his life. He could stare into Phil’s eyes, tell him that he hated him, tell him that he wanted a divorce, yet he’d still look so beautiful.

Phil would hold him, grab his cute little face and kiss him until he stopped yelling. He’d kiss him until he laughed and told him to quit. He’d nuzzle his nose into his face until he giggled and told him to stop being weird. He’d tickle him until he was coughing too hard. 

The best part about it was that all of this will come true, because the love of his life told him, looked at him with his big, round doll eyes, and promised him that he’ll love him forever.

Phil wrapped his fingers around the boy’s hair, pulling him closer, even when he was as close as he could get. His breaths warmed a small spot on his chest, and he savored it. Savored it like it was the first time he had ever felt warmth.

They were quiet now, holding one another and drifting off into a beautiful slumber. He didn’t want to sleep. He’d rather lay awake all night listening to the mesmerizing sounds of the air filling and escaping his lungs. He’d rather lay and wait to see if he was the type to snore, but as time passed and the credits of Wall-E started playing, he was finding it harder and harder to keep his intentions. He _did_ try to keep his eyes open, but unfortunately,

he fell asleep.

~

It was fuzzy. Whether he was dreaming, Phil didn’t know. Nor did he care. He just laid there silently as he floated among stars and endless rivers of nebula after nebula. It took him far too long to realize his gentle voyage wasn’t a solitary one. He was holding a hand, a hand that felt like his. A warm hand that kept his journey through space a meaningful one. Phil rolled his head from the starry painting above him to see the culprit and was met with his favorite person in the world. 

His freckles were little stars. Twinkling like his big, brown eyes. But the little sparkles were sad. Had Phil really known they were sad? Of course not. It was probably his insecurity. So he squeezed a little tighter, rubbed his thumb along the loveliness of his skin.

But suddenly, there was a force. His beloved, the goddess he gave everything too, was suddenly being dragged from him. Dragged from his very fingertips. His happy eye crinkles stayed, but he didn’t.

Phil picked himself up and started chasing the dissipating goddess. However, his legs proved to be useless. Gravity proved to be ruthless. He only evaporated faster the more he struggled.

The very vacuum that captured his love pulled all the stars and planets with it. All the beautiful, breathtaking colors were swept away. All the warmth of his new home was crumbling. All his love and happiness, gone with the rest of his universe. It was all gone, like it had never even existed.

Everything but the image in his head was left. The image of his sad eyes, but his happy crinkles. The same sentence replayed over and over like a broken record,

_I’ll love you forever. I’ll love you forever. I’ll love you forever._

Phil sat in that eternity again. The eternity of nothing but monotonous living, except this time, he was tortured by words he would never know were true. Floated among emptiness that only held lies and pain.

_I’ll love you forever._

So he float forever.

Until he was being surged awake, startled and horrified.

“Fuck!” Phil swore, body bent over and sweaty.

He ran his hands through his hair trying to calm himself. It wasn’t an inherently scary dream, yet still, he was horrified. As soon as he was awake enough to understand where he was and who he was, he’d basically forgotten it. The only thing that stuck out to him at that moment was the utter emptiness of the dream. 

He sat for a moment longer, not before he turned his gaze to the side of his bed, which sat empty. Phil assumed the man went to use the bathroom, and as soon as he considered it, he noted his own tugging bladder.

He shuffled down his hall uncomfortably. He found the bathroom closest to him open, and he flung himself in, lazily shut it and relieved himself. He couldn’t help but wonder why the boy wasn’t in _this_ bathroom. It had been the closest, after all. It’s not that hard to miss if he was looking for a bathroom, unless, of course, it was occupied by someone else and he went scavenging for another one.

Once Phil finished and washed his hands, he started downstairs and checked their second bathroom, but was confused to see it open ajar. He knocked lightly just in case, then pushed it open.

Empty.

That’s when the panic started settling.

Phil checked the remainder of his house, hoping that he was perhaps lost, maybe even being nosy and poking around. Anything. Anything at all. However, he found nothing. No one. He went back to his room, hoping that he somehow missed him while searching, but there was nothing.

Just like that, he was gone.

Phil checked again. He checked every room he could. Checked every bathroom. Checked upstairs, downstairs, even outside.

Barefoot, rocks and pine needles stabbed his feet. He ran around his house, panicking and crying, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he had an issue with sleepwalking.

Birds sang selfishly around him as he stared at the empty yard. Their happy songs of morning filled Phil’s ever-growing hole with anger. A hole that once held a goddess. Held someone he thought would be there for the rest of time. Held someone he thought he could spend his lonely, empty life with.

Phil trudged up his steps, and with every step he took up those stairs, it got harder to keep from sobbing. He sat on his bed and stared helplessly into the empty space of his room.

He left.

The empty promises that _maybe_ Phil was good enough crumbled before him. The perfection of it all almost made Phil wonder if any of it was even real. Yet the scent of flowers still swirled around his room. His shell was still here, almost mockingly.

How could he ever find him again? He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know where he lived, he didn’t have his number, he didn’t know any of his friends...

He didn’t even know his name.

And just like that, as soon as all those realizations hit, Phil snapped. He wrapped his arms around his head and held himself as he sobbed.

The love of his life left it without even saying goodbye. He left him without warning. The boy he fell in love with the second he walked through the doors of his favorite pub, the boy he sang for just to make him feel safe, the boy he stood up for when he was being stepped on, the boy he brought home just to watch Wall-E, the boy who kissed him, told Phil he loved him, told Phil he’ll love him forever…

Gone, like he was never even there.

The boy was a flower. Sometimes, he was a Venus flytrap, sharp but undeniably alluring. Other times, he was a precious lady slipper, meant to be admired and protected. However, this time, he was a cherry blossom.

So beautiful. So hypnotic. So graceful and pink. Yet, as soon as he’d come into Phil’s life, he’d just as quickly left it.

**10 years later**

It was water this time. That’s what Phil Lester planned on ordering when he returned to the Wandering Stone Pub. The bartender and owner, Jack Stylson, a burly man that was always moving, finally stopped for the first time in what felt like centuries when that little bell jingled followed by a tune Phil often whistled.

It had been 10 years since Phil last stepped into that pub. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice anyway, having quickly moved out of his own home to start his life in Manchester.

He started getting back into writing when he moved out, a hobby he had neglected for most of his life. He chiseled out a story that had been in the back of his mind for a while-- a sci-fi romance novel between two men with peculiar abilities, held captive under strict government orders to poke and prod at them-- which Phil eventually self-published in hopes someone would be interested enough to buy it. He wasn’t intending for it to be anything other than a small thing that might earn him a couple royalties here and there, but he was decently shocked to see there was more than one _someone_ who actually liked it. So, he wrote another story, and then another, and then another, and then another.

Phil never considered himself a good writer, even after spending years in college going in debt for degrees he didn't know what to do with, but apparently, he was good enough to have his books read.

So now, after roughly 9 years of writing and working two separate jobs, he finds himself back in the same pub, here to visit everyone after a worried phone call from his mom. Phil stopped giving his family and friends his time. He was too busy, and he wanted it to stay that way. Phil hated the amount of time he had on his hands. It became sickening just sitting in his apartment watching shows and movies all day, thinking about all the time he was wasting. Thinking about everything he didn't have. Thinking about all the things he didn’t do, nor could do. 

Now he works his ass off, and any spare time he managed to have was spent writing, a desperate attempt to escape the threats of his mind.

Each step he took made him wonder why he decided to come back.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Jack said with his powerful Viking voice. “This godforsaken rat is back in my pub again! I really thought I exterminated ya'.”

Phil laughed warmly at Stylson, watching him walk around the counter to give Phil a welcome-back hug. He definitely doesn’t come off as the hugging type, yet he didn’t spare Phil a single second to catch his breath before he was being raised off the ground and snapped in half like a twig.

“As much as I hate to say it, I missed ya’ kid,” He said after putting Phil down, bent and squashed.

“I missed you too, Stylson,” He groaned, straightening out his back. Even Philwas getting old.

Just when he thought the pestering was over, Stylson cackled and ruffled Phil’s hair with his big lobster claws.

“Thank Christ ya’ finally chopped that rat’s nest off your head! You got it all pretty, eh Philly?”

He finally gave mercy to Phil, letting him slip back into his favorite seat.

The pub hadn’t changed at all. Stylson put up better TVs for the loud, sports fans that would storm in on the weekends, but that looked to be the only thing that changed. The same music played, the same fruity smell lingered, the big man with hasty movements still stood behind his counter. Hell, the man himself barely changed. The biggest difference he could spot were the small patches of grey that decorated his beard, but even then, that wasn’t very new.

“It _was_ pretty.” Phil laughed as he fixed his quiff, something he had only very recently decided on.

“You want your normal, Philip? Or do ya’ finally have some personality?”

“Oh, I’m fine with water, Stylson,” Phil says, head propped up with his hand.

Phil examined every nook and cranny. The place held so many memories, but the fact it still felt exactly the same as it did 10 years ago honestly left him feeling pretty bitter.

“Eh, you’ve gotten worse.” He laughed, practically shaking the walls with his voice.

He tried laughing with Jack, but the pub hadn’t exactly been much of a happy place after what happened. It was hard to look at this place the same again, let alone return to it without being reminded of everything that had transpired.

Jack slid Phil a cup of water, ice cubes clinking together gently. The mere sound of the ice bumping into one another made him uneasy.

“How've the years been treating ya’, old man?” Stylson asked, pouring himself a small drink of his own.

Phil tried to distract himself with the conversation, but it wasn’t happening. It wasn’t the comfortable, homey place he grew so close with. It was a place that reminded him of bad choices and immaturity. He came back to visit Stylson. He was like a second father after all. That’s the only reason he’s back. It felt uncomfortable because Phil _made it_ uncomfortable.

Jack was overjoyed to hear Phil was “making it” as a writer, going on about how he needs to bring him one of his books someday. Phil just humbly told him off, assuring the man over and over it wasn’t anything special.

“Oh, that damned son went off to the army just a year ago. I worry about that little bugger every day. Miss him too.”

“Weren’t you in the army?” Phil asked, sipping his water curiously.

“Yeah, of course I was! But it’s different when your son leaves,” His eyes turned sad for a moment. It was a vulnerability Phil never saw before. “I had to watch that little shit grow up and I had to teach him how to ride a bike. Now I gotta wake up every morning and check the post. He won’t be so shit at sending me letters when he finds out his old man had a heart attack ‘cause of him!” He chuckled.

“If he’s _your_ son, I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Phil assured him.

“Nah, that boy worries me. He’s just like you, Philip. Just like his mom too. Sure trips a lot.” He laughed, holding his stomach this time.

Just when he thought Stylson was getting sentimental too, he laughed it off.

“But I’m real glad to see you. It puts this old man at ease to see you’re doing well.”

“Yeah, well I’m happy to see this old dust bunny still clutching to her life support.”

“Aye, I’ll kick ya’ out if you’re gonna talk to my pub like that!” He defended.

They spent what felt like an eternity catching up. Apparently, he broke an arm after getting in a fight with someone which was a very wild story to hear. Phil didn’t have any cool stories to share. All he had to talk about were the number of hours he spent playing Stardew Valley and then explaining to the fifty-year-old that it was a videogame and not a real-life horse ranch.

Stylson stopped rambling for a second, and let his voice get a little serious.

“So, ya’ never told me what happened with the guy you brought home that night. Usually you like telling me all the drama.”

Phil’s chest got tight, but he tried playing it off.

“Oh, it was nothing, really. We just hung out then he left the next morning.”

Phil hadn’t spoken a word about the boy to anyone after that night. Suddenly talking about him now felt… Wrong, as if the universe was about to explode now that he verbally expressed recognition of it.

Stylson didn’t seem very satisfied with Phil’s answer.

“I could tell you really liked him, Phil,” He grumbled. “But even _I_ knew everything was happening too fast.”

Phil gritted his teeth.

“Y’know Philip, he st-”

“Does the bathroom light still flicker when you turn the fan on?” Phil blurted, desperately trying to escape the conversation.

That was Jack’s cue to shut up, so he smiled and started talking about how he still uses it to freak annoying customers out. Phil was thankful, but his knee started bobbing nonetheless.

It was becoming harder and harder to stay there. His mind kept wandering back to things he was trying so hard to repress. He kept thinking the same things, kept wondering the same things. It was no use, though. It was never of any use.

Stylson cut his story short after going to tend to a customer. Phil used that time to rub his face and try to recuperate. He took another drink of his water and leaned it against his face. It was cold, almost sizzling against his hot face.

 _As soon as I finish this water, I’m heading back home._ He silently planned. He couldn’t bear to be here anymore.

“Uh- yeah you still serve lemonade, right?”

It was merely a buzz in the background, but he heard it like thunder. The kind of thunder among storms that makes you fear for your own safety. Thunder that shook houses so hard you’d think the windows would shatter.

As soon as it processed, it was like he got electrocuted. His body jolted up, and he hesitated before turning to look.

No. There’s no way.

It’s impossible.

Phil slowly turned his head just enough so he could peer at whoever the voice came from without blatantly staring.

Slowly, his eyes examined the feet. White shoes, feet that bounced anxiously. He was wearing black skinny jeans, too.

Slowly, his eyes examined the body. Fiddling thumbs. Monochrome long-sleeve, like he was trying to blend in.

Slowly, his eyes examined the face.

Simply put, he was beautiful.

_This isn’t possible..._

He still looked so small. So delicate. Like Phil could just pick him up and put him in his pocket.

_This cannot be real..._

His still very squishy face accompanied those even bigger, browner doll-eyes that Phil couldn't loosen his gaze from.

_This isn’t happening…_

His hair was curly now. Had he straightened it back then? How had Phil not noticed?

_… Am I dreaming?_

Like a spell was cast over him, every bad thought was gone. Everything was wiped clean. The vacuum that sucked away all the color from Phil’s life finally spat it all back out. It was here again. It was his again. It was in arms reach. 

_This is too good to be true._

The boy stared up at Stylson, posture even worse than before. His smile was even brighter, his happy eye crinkles even more pronounced with age.

Phil’s legs were already moving before his brain made up a plan. He wasn’t even drunk yet his legs acted like it.

As he got closer and closer, his lungs became tighter. He stopped dead in his tracks mere feet away from him. He wouldn’t dare sit beside him. He wouldn’t dare whisper a word to him.

However, the boy sensed a hovering presence, so, lemonade to his lips, he turned to look up at Phil.

And there they were.

Their eyes interlocked for the first time in 10 years. Their beings beside one another as if the universe knew it was meant to be. Phil told himself to forget about the last time he saw those eyes a long time ago. He told himself to drown those big, puppy eyes that haunted Phil’s dreams. Haunting like they’d never be seen again. They stared back at him though, even more beautiful than the last time.

The same familiar emotion erupted within him. His feelings for the boy hadn’t withered in the slightest. There was so much color and warmth that came from just looking at him. He made Phil’s heart dance to a song only the man before him could sing.

It was an odd sense of nostalgia, like he had returned to his hometown in the same year he was happiest. It was a connection he thought he had lost over his life, but it was there. He felt 23 again. He wanted to cry from just how good it felt standing so close to him again.

He had grown so much, yet, he hadn’t changed a bit. He still had the same baby face, still had perfect skin. His lips were still pink -- still chapped too. His eyelashes were still long. His freckles and rosy spots all the more noticeable.

And that damn hair. He couldn't believe how fucking cute his damn hair was.

He stared up at him, eyes bigger than ever.

“Phil…?” A small noise stretched past his lips.

His voice was honey. Sweet, delicate honey that slithered down his heart and set it ablaze. His voice had gotten deeper, but there was no doubt that it was his. It was the same voice that whispered beautiful promises to him. Beautiful promises he wished he could trust.

Phil sat in the seat beside him, only allowing a couple of seconds to pass before he reconnected their eyes.

“Long time no see, huh?” Phil kept a warm smile on his face as he sipped his water.

Phil couldn’t deny that he was bitter staring into the swirling shock of his face. As happy as he was to see him again, let alone know he was still alive, he felt the same sense of petty resentment return. But Phil was a lot more mature now. He tells himself this a lot. He knows how to placate those immature emotions.

The boy continued staring until he seemed to succumb back to reality.

“Yeah, it’s-it’s been a uh- a long time.”

They turned their gazes away from each other briefly, both bending over the counter as the painfully obvious tension loitered around them. They took slow sips of their drinks, not until Phil finally broke the ice.

“How’s life been treating you?”

“It’s- it’s been fine.” He was quick to finish. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been alright. Just trying to stay alive.” He stared down at his fingers as they traced swirls in the condensation of his cup.

Phil hated how anxious he was without being intoxicated. Hated how he could only talk to people if he was drunk. Phil clenched his jaw. He needed to do something. He refused to let all of his chances for happiness slip between his fingers. After all these years, he needed answers. He needed closure.

And maybe he should start by actually figuring out who the fuck he was in love with.

“I never got your name by the way.” Phil shot a glance at the boy beside him.

His body straightened some. Then his eyebrows furrowed along with a questioning smiling.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Phil laughed, but restrained himself by hiding his smiling mouth with his fist.

“No, I’m dead serious!”

The boy beside him laughed, and that single dimple appeared after a long 10 years of slumber. His voice was so bouncy and contagious.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Phil.” He rubbed his face. “My name’s Dan.”

Dan. After all these years of staying up crying over a nameless boy, it was Dan. It was Dan he fell in love with. The person he had dreamt about practically every night for the last 10 years was a boy named Dan. The person he swore to marry was a boy named Dan. It had always been Dan.

“Yeah, pretty disappointing name, isn’t it?”

“I would’ve never guessed.” Phil’s voice lost strength. “Suits you, though.”

He cleared his dry throat by finishing the rest of his water.

“Surprised you’re drinking water,” Dan voiced.

“Ah, I gave up drinking a while ago,” Phil smiled after meeting his eyes.

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I met someone,” He smiled broadly, knowing exactly how obvious he was. Dan did too.

Phil questioned if it was too soon to go through with questioning him, but it had been 10 years of torture. Surely this was soon enough.

He knew better than to beat around the bush though. 

Phil let out a long, shaky sigh before working out the very question that kept him awake most nights. The very question he would’ve sold his soul to have answered.

“Dan, why did you leave?” His throat tightened. “I mean- Why did you, like, leave forever?”

Dan’s face fell. It had already been filled to the brim with guilt and desperately did he try meeting his gaze.

“Phil, I- I was such a different person back then.” He sounded hopeless.

Phil felt the bitterness awake again.

“I was… I was in such a bad place. I didn’t want to like guys. I didn't want to believe _you_ liked me, but I just…” Dan tumbled. “I was so in love with you, Phil.”

His eyes begin to tear up the second those words left him. Phil’s eyes widened with hope, but he stayed silent.

“And I didn’t want to be. I tried hating you for some stupid fucking reason, but it just kept getting worse and worse.”

Phil watched as he silently fell apart. Watched as he battled with the tears that welled in his eyes, wiping anything and everything away from existence.

“It just kept piling and piling-- Like you made me so happy. You made me _so_ fucking happy, happier than anyone’s ever made me. You sang for me, stood up for me, fuck, you called me your _soulmate._ Like what the fuck." Dan attempted to laugh, trying so hard to hold himself together. He gave himself a couple of seconds to recuperate before beginning again.

“I left because I was selfish. I was confused and heartless and just wanted to protect myself, but ever since then, I just... I regret everything.”

“Dan…” Phil mumbled.

He didn’t know what to say, nor what words would be best for him to hear right now.

“I’m so sorry, Phil… I’m so sorry for hurting you. I’m so sorry for- for everything... I wish I hadn’t been so fucking stupid...”

Dan kept himself from looking Phil in the eyes, but he knew he meant it.

“Dan, it’s not your fault. You were still so young… You were just figuring yourself out- hell, if anyone’s selfish, it’s me. I was the one who forced myself onto you and then got offended when you left.”

“No, none of this is your fault. I led you on and then just- left you. Without ever saying anything…”

Phil could see that the anguish was unwavering.

“Well none of that matters anymore, because you’re here now, and so am I,” Phil concluded, smiling for him.

Dan still looked eaten up with guilt, but nonetheless, he sighed defeated and rolled his eyes.

Phil took a couple gulps of his water before setting it back down and staring at Dan.

It was all so surreal now that he finally had time to comprehend everything. 10 years of absolute deafening silence, and now he was here, beautiful as ever with a glass of lemonade up to his lips. He’s right in front of him like he never left, and like the cherry on top of the cherry, he had closure. That's all he ever wanted.

His eyes wandered back up to his cloud of hair. He never imagined him with anything but straight hair, yet now, seeing him with his natural puff, he wondered how he hadn’t thought about the image. He realized far too late that his hand was outstretched and tangling itself around his little swirlies.

“How come you never told me you had curly hair?” Phil smiled, melting at the way his curls hugged his fingers.

“Because I hated it,” He said matter-of-factly before swatting his hand away.

He missed this. He missed him. He missed him the second he left, yet seeing the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles made him realize just how much pain he was truly in before this night.

“Why? They’re so adorable,” Phil beamed.

“Shut up.”

Phil stared up at the ceiling with a dumb smile imprinted on his face. It was just like old times. It was like his puppy love never left.

He glanced at him, happy to see a smile of his own. Once Dan met Phil’s gaze, he planned something.

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

Dan raised an eyebrow.

“Can we watch Wall-E together at your place?”

Dan blinked a couple of times, but when he seemed to remember, a look of utter adoration overwhelmed every feature of his face.

~

When Phil created a universe the day Dan kissed him, he was severely unprepared for what he was about to create today, and it was nothing but fireworks. Facing the ceiling, they breathed together in a quiet, understanding harmony.

Phil stretched his hand out, traveling to find any part of Dan he could hold, and eventually their hands hugged, even though they were sweaty and most likely unpleasant to touch.

There was silence, but it spoke a billion words. Phil had an inkling Dan heard it too, but he didn’t bother breaking their magical moment to find out.

The pure silence and hand-holding lasted for a while, not until Phil peeled his hand away from Dan’s and rolled onto his side to face him. Dan mimicked his movements, meeting his gaze and huddling in close.

He watched his dimple appear, then reached out his hand to poke it.

Dan’s cheeks grew pink and he swatted mercilessly at the man, unapologetic laughs springing from his throat like happy toads.

Dan let him breathe, and Phil graciously did, not before Dan sat up and started rummaging around his bed.

“What’re you looking for?” Phil asked, sitting up with him.

“My phone,” He bluntly answered. “Could you check your side of the floor?”

Phil, hopelessly in love with the lazy bastard, groaned and scooted off the bed to find Dan’s phone. As he rummaged through the darkness though, he found it increasingly difficult to decipher a dark rectangular object amongst a dark floor flooded with the same twelve black skinny jeans.

He had plucked a shirt off the floor to reveal something rectangular, but it wasn’t a phone. It appeared to be a book, and out of the exciting curiosity he had been suddenly electrocuted with of what kind of literature Dan liked, Phil grabbed it and held it up to try and make out its title.

“Found it!” Dan said from the opposite side of the room, but Phil hadn’t registered it. Being in complete shock didn’t help.

_The Feathers of a Nightjar, Volume VI…_

The book Phil had been holding in his hands was his own. It was the sixth volume to a series he had started writing 4 years ago and still had yet to finish.

Phil thumbed through the pages, speechless. Phil’s craned his neck to look at Dan, and he seemed to have an equally shocked expression.

“You read my books?” Phil asked, standing up to face him.

His eyes shifted from the book to Phil, embarrassment overwhelming him. His mouth fell open as he tried finding words to say.

“Well, I uh- I- ” He stuttered. “Yeah! I mean- I didn’t find out _you_ were the author until I finished your third book- I mean not that I- Well-”

Phil blinked a couple of times. He was an absolute mess.

“Dan, just how long exactly were you going to wait to tell me about this?” He smirked, flaunting the book around tauntingly.

“Give it up!” He said, face pink as he swiped it out of his hands.

“I bet you’ve been stalking me all these years.” Phil poked, wrapping his arms around Dan. “Are you my number one fan, Daniel? Are you gonna beg me to sign your beloved copy of _Paper Airplanes?”_

Phil referenced one of his most popular books, and Dan only squirmed away embarrassed as he continued to make fun of him.

“I fucking hate you!” Dan laughed.

They unintentionally fell back into Dan’s bed as Phil continued poking at him.

“Besides, I bought a signed copy off of eBay like 2 years ago,” He admitted

“I expect nothing less from you,” Phil laughed. “How much?”

“40,” He said, voice drenched with shame.

“Aww, you’d spend that much just to have a signed copy of _my_ book?” Phil swooned, propping his face on his hands. “Wow, you really are my number one fan.”

Dan glared at him, but his expression softened faster than Phil was prepared for.

“What can I say? You’re an amazing writer.”

Phil felt a tickle of warmth envelope his insides. The love of his life really thought he was an amazing writer? Let alone amazing? How could that even be fathomable?

“Now it's _your_ time to shut up,” Phil said, sitting up.

Dan objected, “You’re incredible! God, just look at how many people read your books. Like, yeah, okay- Everyone always says how good _Paper Airplanes_ was and yes, it was a wonderful story, but it pales in comparison to _Love, Abyss._ Like, it’s one of those books where you have to reread it to truly appreciate it because of how many subtle details there are and that's like- my favorite thing in the world. I can’t tell you how much I cried at the end though when-”

Dan stopped himself when he looked into Phil’s big eyes. He was an even bigger nerd than he remembered.

“God, you’re so stupidly cute,” Phil mused.

The halcyon day that often orbited his head was once repressed and hated, but now, it was the beloved introduction to a life Phil thought was destined to forever be a fantasy. A fantasy not even his writing could create. He was mere inches away from the very angel he swore had ascended back to heaven after the night they met. His hand held the goddess, held his impossibly soft skin. Held it, and for the millionth time tonight, was surprised beyond words to see he didn't phase through him. There was always a dark, whispering voice that Dan was merely a figment of his lonely mind, but right now, holding his gaze, that proved to be false.

No one could ever conjure these emotions unless they were real. The loneliest person on the planet could never create such perfection. Dan was here. Dan was his. Dan was impossible to create.

He was so beautiful. Like a lady slipper, meant to be admired and protected.

“Do you remember when you stood up for me?” Dan whispered, eyes closed.

“Oh my God, what’s his face- Arnold? I hated that guy! I swear, I almost punched him.” Phil laughed.

He hummed, his smile growing.

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever done something like that for me.” His voice was warm. A soft glow emitted from his face, but it was seasoned with pain. Like he had been surrounded by Arnolds and Owens his whole life, but only had one Phil.

There was both sadness and pride that tickled Phil’s insides.

“Like… I don’t think you’ll ever realize how much that meant to me.”

Phil wasn’t good with compliments.

“I’m glad I meant something to you before you ripped my heart out.”

Dan pushed at Phil and called him all sorts of names, such as dickhead, fucker, and asshole. He was done making fun of him, but in all honesty, the playful hitting was starting to become one of Phil’s favorite things.

Once they calmed down, the exhaustion of all they did together started gnawing at them. Dan’s eyes, heavy with sleep, started falling closed. Phil’s face blossomed with happiness.

“Goodnight, Dan,” He whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on his nose.

A smile stretched across Dan’s pink face, and like a butterfly, his eyelashes fluttered with his eyes.

“Goodnight, Phil.”

Phil’s mind started thinking about all the things he had lost, like how he wanted to wake up to Dan’s beautiful face when the morning light kissed his cranky eyes. Or how he wanted to watch him brush his teeth, cook breakfast, hold him under the stars. For a really long time, Phil was confident that those fantasies were nothing but childish dreams that he'd try to mimic through writing.

However, all of it will come true. At least he hoped it would. That day, Dan had looked up at him with his big, round doll eyes, and promised him that he’ll love him forever. He still didn’t know if that was true though, and maybe he’d never know.

Arms wrapped tightly and foreheads resting on one another, they begin to drift off into a beautiful slumber. Phil didn’t want to sleep. He’d rather lay awake all night listening to the mesmerizing sounds of the air filling and escaping Dan’s lungs. He’d rather lay and wait to see if he was the type to snore, but as time passed, he was finding it harder and harder to keep his intention. He did try to keep his eyes open, but unfortunately, he fell asleep.

~

Phil jolted awake. Immediately, his mind was racing. He sat up, half-awake but nonetheless panicked. The space next to him was empty, like last time. Empty and cold like all he had loved dissipated again. 

He threw his feet over the unfamiliar bed, threw the bedroom door open and sprinted around the unfamiliar flat. He found the bathroom, which sat empty. Kitchen: empty. Every room: empty.

Phil’s head started getting light and tears started welling in his eyes, but through the stir of his half-awake panic, he managed to spot a piece of paper that sat on top of a messy table.

He approached it and, with shaky hands, picked it up. He read the messy handwriting, eyes caressing every small scribble and swirl. 

_Phil,_

_Don't worry, I didn’t leave you again. Just at work._

_Feel free to eat anything in my fridge as long as it isn’t in a white styrofoam container._

_I’ll be back around 4 or something I don’t know._

Phil’s legs gave out from all the relief he felt, and he collapsed onto the chair beside him. He rubbed his face and groaned, the sleep catching up to his head while the world around him began to spin. He was in Dan’s flat. Of course he was coming back, this was his home. 

He couldn’t help but laugh at how stupid he was as he reread the letter. He read it over and over like it was the most beautiful thing in the world. He hadn’t imagined his handwriting to look like that. He imagined calligraphy being the closest thing to resembling it, but truth be told, it was chicken scratch. Nonetheless, he sighed to himself lovingly as he stared at the way he smashed his letters like an impatient baker.

But then, he saw something he had missed. A message purposely written in _much_ smaller print. His heart stopped, and all the sleep that had been clouding his whirling head was wiped clean. He sat up straight and felt the tears return to his eyes.

_P.S._

_I’ll love you forever <3 _

  
  



End file.
